The Runaway
by Lemon Icee
Summary: Serenity becomes home to a runaway from an Alliance central planet, whose checkered past could mean salvation or destruction for the crew. Can he cure River once and for all? OC played by David Hewlett  McKay in Stargate Atlantis  but crew-centric
1. Chapter 1

**AN:** Well, this is a fic in which we have an OC who is in fact a guest star, to be played (in your brain, ladies and gentlemen) by David Hewlett (Rodney McKay on Stargate Atlantis, among other things). Or if you're not familiar with Hewlett, it doesn't matter really, although I highly HIGHLY recommend SGA C: Also don't worry, it won't be totally OC centric, as he's just a device with which to explore a more crew-heavy plot!

It's been a long hiatus from writing, with lots of school work and life obligations, and I only hope I can finish this one, as well as finish off all the others I have dangling, eek!

Enjoy!

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><p>Mal cradled his drink protectively, eyes glazed as he sat hunched over the bar. To his left sat a fairly disgruntled and already tipsy Jayne who was shouting cat calls at the <em>er-hu<em> band playing in the back. Part of Mal just wanted to leave Jayne to his verbal abuse and ditch the bar; hell, ditch the planet. More promises of work had led the crew to Santo, but the job had turned south when the crook they were dealing with got spooked by River's odd behavior. They'd been taking her along for more than a few jobs lately, since she had the uncanny ability to sense a lying cheat when there was one about. This one hadn't been lying, he just scared too easy; and now here he was, drinking in some _gos se_ back-alley tavern, trying to gradually scoot himself away from Jayne in order to avoid association with the raucous mercenary. Zoe and River had gone back to the ship right after the deal fell through, leaving the pitiable wallowing to the men folk.

Mal couldn't honestly say he was mad at River, although he certainly had been at the time. It wasn't her fault really, they could have left her behind. He felt badly for her more than anything. He could see in her expressions at times like these, when she knew she'd done something wrong, he could see her yearning for normalcy. She'd apologized in her cryptic way (_"__san shi nian he dong…and thirty years the west…") _and like most of the things she said it made more sense to Mal than he cared to admit. She'd grown on him. She'd grown on all of them.

Across the bar from him, in much the same dejected gloom as Mal himself, a man sat himself down heavily onto one of the stools and ordered a drink. As Mal had already been staring at the empty space the newcomer now occupied, and couldn't really be bothered to move his head, the sullen captain found himself sizing the man up. He looked to Mal rather out of place, but not in any really identifiable way. His clothing was not particularly nice, but seemed somehow disjointed, as if someone had picked random articles out of a trunk filled with miscellaneous pauper outfits. He wore a navy knit cap (the kind sailors on New Melbourne often wore) and an overlarge trench coat, with what looked like a ratty vest on underneath. The man himself was haggard-looking, his short, thinning hair unkempt and his face heavily shadowed with lack of sleep. He was slightly stout in a way not generally seen on the more impoverished planets such as Santo, especially in one his age which Mal guessed to be mid to late 30s. Mal also noticed (though he hadn't intended to think hard about the man) that his eyes were strangely alert, darting around the bar quickly every minute or so. He was certainly strange. And when the bartender came back with a colorful fruity approximation of a cocktail for him, Mal was convinced this man was very far from home. Drink like that could get you two black eyes in a place like this.

So really it didn't surprise Mal very much when, from the shadowy depths of the back of the tavern, two rather gruff looking fellows approached the new patron. The man, noticing this while taking a sip of his drink, spluttered and stumbled off his stool gracelessly. Mal snorted, himself a little tipsy, watching the unfortunate misfit stagger back away from his assailants, backing himself stupidly into a corner. When the attackers raised their guns however, the bartender stepped in.

"Fellas," Mal could just barely here him over the cacophony of band vs Jayne taking place beside him.

"No guns in here. Take it outside if you gotta," he said lazily, cleaning a glass with a dirty rag in a thoroughly unoriginal way.

"We're staying," said one of the men, and he thrust a badge into the face of the bartender. Alliance. Suddenly Mal was much more interested.

"In fact!" the same man shouted, his voice filling the already noisy tavern with authority. "I think it'd be best if all you scum cleared outta here right now, before I find a reason to _make_ you leave, _dong ma?_" He held his badge aloft, making sure the now much quieter crowd could see he meant business. There was an instant shuffling of feet and clinking of abandoned glasses as the tavern emptied. Jayne had mercifully shut up at the sight of Alliance, and keeping his head down he leaned over to Mal, who hadn't moved.

"Think we should get off this rock right now, Mal," he grumbled, glaring up at the two feds. "They ain't noticed us yet, that don't mean they won't."

"Right," Mal said, somewhat distantly. He had not looked away from the scene unfolding. The man in the trench coat was cowering in the shadows, and as Mal watched he received a swift and violet kick from the fed who was not doing the talking. Mal winced in sympathy as he stood to follow Jayne and the last of the tavern patrons out.

"Wonder what he did to tickle the feds so?" He murmured. Jayne shrugged.

"Idiot gets hisself caught, it's his own damn fault."

Mal could not help but agree. Still, maybe it was the whisky burning in his gut or some residual frustration from the failed job that afternoon, but he felt reckless. Jayne staggered out into the sunshine, but his captain did not follow. Rather, he slunk into the depths of shadow, hiding behind a large potted plant with fanned leaves, keeping his eyes on the man in the trench coat.

"L-look, guys, I d-don't know what they told you," the man stammered from his sitting position on the floor.

"You're a traitor, Daley," said the vocal fed, and he too offered a kick to the ribs to the unfortunate man. "The Alliance sent us to let you know that traitors don't get treated with kindness."

Mal's hand was hovering over his holster, waiting to see if this man, Daley's life was worth saving. Of course offing some feds was never a bad idea in Mal's book, particularly when one was reading Mal's book under the influence of a strong drink.

"I swear, I haven't told anyone-" Daley started, but was grabbed by the silent officer into a standing position, a hand gripped tightly around the collar of his shirt.

"Good," said the other fed quietly. "And you never will." He extracted from his pocket a sinister looking instrument. It was shaped like a blade, indeed was a blade, but had some strange electronics in the hilt that beeped and whizzed into life at his touch. Daley's eyes widened in panic as the device was unveiled.

"No, please, I promise-" he yelped, but too late. Mal watched in frozen disgust as the fed plunged the blade into Daley's stomach, and the unfortunate traitor unleashed a scream of agony. But that wasn't it. A few seconds after the stabbing, a jolt of electricity crackled from the blade, sending Daley's body into spasms of pain. His voice cracked and tears ran down his face as the current ran through him.

Mal had had enough. Stepping out from behind the flora, he drew his pistol and without a second thought shot the fed with the knife in the head. The man was dead before he hit the floor. The silent officer's head whipped up just in time to see the second bullet from Mal's gun hurtling towards his throat. Mal's aim somewhat improved when he had a few drinks in him.

_Two dead feds and a fugie_, Mal thought, half in amusement and half in exasperation. _I do find myself in the most interesting of situations._

He walked over to the still writhing Daley, putting a hand to his neck to feel a pulse. It was strong, but rapid and his lingering convulsions seemed to indicate that he was still in a lot of pain. Mal sighed.

"Jayne!" he called out, hoping his mercenary hadn't wandered off too far. Luckily, surprisingly, a head popped in the door frame.

"What'd you do?" Jayne called in angrily.

"Never you mind, c'mere" Mal grunted. Jayne complied, but warily.

"Who's that?" He asked, pointing to the whimpering figure on the ground unsympathetically. "What'd you—" he spied the dead feds and his scowl deepened. "What'd you go and do that for?"

"Help me get him up, gotta get him to the doc," Mal grumbled. He kneeled down and slid himself under one of Daley's arms, hoping to stand him up. Daley however seemed to have lost function of his limbs, and refused to support any of his weight. Mal struggled, glaring up at Jayne for help.

"He got some Alliance fat on 'im" Jayne said, without offering aid.

"Don' mean he's Alliance," Mal ground out. "Not no more anyway. Just means that you got to_ help me_."

Jayne merely grunted in reply, and finally took Daley's other arm over his shoulder, relieving Mal of the bulk of his weight.

"You thinkin it's wise to drag some random bleeding fugie through town, take him onto the ship and patch him up for nothin'." It was not a question, but something of an accusation.

"I'm thinkin' he pissed off the Alliance pretty bad, and needed some help," Mal said as they exited the tavern. The crowds outside were still thick in the early evening, and they had surprisingly little difficulty hauling the semi-conscious Daley through various back alleys on their way back to Serenity.

"You gotta stop adoptin' every dumb fuck who rubs the Alliance wrong," Jayne growled. "Fair soon there won't be rom enough on the ship left for cargo."

"Ain't adopting nobody," Mal said quietly. "We just bring him on, fix him up, dump him on the next planet. Ain't our responsibility, just…" he wasn't sure why he'd done it really. Must have been the fire water. "Just bein' a good Samaritan."


	2. Chapter 2

**AN**: Sorry if this one's a bit dull, I promise next one will be filled with much more intrigue!

CHAPTER 2

Kaylee sat moodily in the cargo bay, waiting for Jayne and the captain to return. She'd been playing a nice game of _Go_ with Simon before Zoe came back, River trailing dejectedly behind her and then proceeding to throw one hell of a fit in the kitchen. Simon was now attempting to sooth his sister from the other side of her bedroom door, where she'd shut herself in. And Kaylee, so close once more to an actual, complete date with the doctor, had grabbed some wine and wandered down to the hold.

She almost wished she could join Jayne and Mal at the bar, maybe get flirted with a bit by some local boys, lift her spirits. But before she could make a decision on that account, the bay doors opened and in staggered the two men, looking haggard.

At first she thought they'd been injured, but she soon noticed the limp form they were dragging in. She leapt from her seated position on one of the empty crates that littered the hold and dashed over.

"What happened?" She asked with a little panic in her voice. "Who's that, Cap'n?" She gingerly touched the unconscious man's hand.

"Yeah Mal, just who _is_ that?" Jayne asked mockingly.

"Name's Daley," Mal said shortly. "And I ain't got to explain myself to you, Jayne," he continued in a low voice, while Kaylee fussed.

The two men set their burden down gently in the middle of cargo bay.

"Kaylee, run n' get the doctor down here," Mal said, while Jayne closed the bay doors, still looking skeptical. Kaylee had gone pale as soon as she had seen the bloody wound in Daley's stomach. She'd been staring wide-eyed at the prone form, but she dashed off as soon as Mal brought her back to attention.

"What're you gonna do if he just bleeds out there?" Jayne asked, now leaning against a crate with his arms folded. "We sure as hell ain't gonna be hauling some corpse through the verse."

"He ain't gonna die," Mal snapped. He was keeping an eye on Daley's breathing, but couldn't really do much more than that. He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding at the sound of Simon's approach. The doctor dashed down the scaffolding with Kaylee, Zoe and Sheppard Book right behind him.

"Oh, my," Simon murmured as he knelt down beside the body. "He's badly injured." Mal rolled his eyes.

The doctor began taking out sinister looking instruments from his medical bag, instructing Zoe to open the man's shirt. She did so, peeling off the fabric with some difficulty as the blood had already dried it to his skin.

Mal looked away during the gory bits. Not that he hadn't seen plenty of blood and guts in the war, and plenty afterwards too, but that didn't make it much easier to stomach really. Kaylee wasn't looking either; her eyes were determinately staring at the portside wall of the hanger. The nervous fiddling of her fingers through her hair betrayed her anxiety.

"What happened to him?" Simon said in quiet wonderment. "The wound is already cauterized…"

Mal snorted humorlessly. "Yeah, I'd bet it is. Never seen nothing like it."

"What?" Demanded Simon impatiently.

"It was some kinda…electric knife. Stabbed him, then sent a jolt right through. Lucky he ain't fried on the inside."

Simon balked. "That's…horrific," he muttered. "I'm guessing you weren't dealing with the usual tavern miscreants." He looked up from his work to give Mal a wary look. The captain met his gaze unflinchingly.

"No," he said at last, and grabbed his walkie-talkie. "Wash, take us up now if you would. Faster would be better."

"It was Alliance," Simon said, a hint of accusation in his voice. "You took my sister out onto a planet with Alliance?" He stood up confrontationally.

"Mind your work now Doctor," Mal said shortly. "We weren't snuffed out, it was this fella they had their eyes on."

Simon knelt back down begrudgingly, taking some more readings from Daley.

"I'll need him in the infirmary," the doctor said at last. "The extent of the internal damage from an electric shock could be…worrisome. I'll need you to-"

Mal had already crossed the distance towards the body and lifted the legs gingerly. Sheppard Book took the man's upper half and the two carefully carried him to the medical bay.

The bulk of the crew was in the galley when the surgery was wrapped up. Simon wandered up wearily when his work was completed, leaving Zoe to keep an eye on the patient. He heard the sound of laughter and light-hearted conversation which made him tense; he'd never been good at dealing with the quick reemergence into normalcy after surgery.

"Hey there Doc," Mal called as Simon entered timorously.

"How's he doing?" Kaylee asked, her face falling into a concerned expression at the appearance of the doctor. Everyone but Zoe and River (still in her room, Simon thought guiltily) perked up to hear news on the stranger's condition.

Simon sighed. "Well he's not well…but he's also surprisingly not…unwell," he felt slightly brain dead and knew he wasn't making much sense. "I mean, upon first glance and hearing your description of what happened, I thought it would be much worse than it actually was. But it seems as though the weapon's voltage wasn't high enough to cause very severe damage to the internal organs. I don't think it was meant to be fatal." At this final statement his voice dropped with disgust.

A brief silence filled the room. Kaylee had her hands over her mouth, Wash and Sheppard Book had grim expressions. Only Jayne seemed unfazed by the announcement.

"Well that is interesting," Mal said at last, breaking the quiet. "I am getting all kinds of antsy to hear this fella's story. He awake?" The captain stood expectedly.

"Not yet," said Simon, "Not for a while. He _did_ still sustain a fairly severe puncture wound to the stomach, not something you generally bounce back from in a few hours."

"Ok well, tell me when he's up," Mal plopped back down and proceeded to continue eating his beans. Simon scrubbed his face wearily and headed up to River's room, hoping she had calmed down enough to eat something.

It was quiet when he pressed his ear to the door; a good sign. He knocked and murmured, "River?"

Immediately it cracked open and a wide brown eye was staring at him with urgency.

"There's someone on the ship," River stated plainly.

"That…that's right," Simon said, trying to figure out how she'd known. "Did Kaylee tell you?"

"He shouldn't be here," She said quietly, and began shrinking back from the door. "I don't want him here, Simon."

He opened the door slowly and followed her as she crept back onto her bed, drawing her knees up to her chest and staring at him pleadingly.

"Why? What's wrong, _mei-mei?_" He put his arms around her but she did not relax her shoulders. She stared at the wall opposite her bed, and in a low voice repeated her now all too familiar mantra.

"Two by two. Hands of blue."


End file.
